Adding Insult to Injury
by zipple
Summary: Just when Harry thought that nothing else would ever surprise him, Harry found himself in the dark. Harry goes blind and deaf. Rating T to be on the safe side, but more likely K . Some very mild sex at the end. And of course, reviews make writers happy.


Just when Harry thought that nothing else would ever surprise him, Harry found himself in the dark.

There was nothing to trigger it. No smacks to the head, no funny potions gone wrong. One day Harry simply woke up and tried to convince himself that it was still night and that the moon was just hiding.

He stared blankly at the ceiling, only moving to grab his wand which was still in its normal place. _Lumos _was cast.

Nothing.

Convinced that it was an error or a trick, he kept his eyes open until they almost cracked from dryness.

Nothing. It was the middle of the day and there was nothing.

At first he tried to ignore it. It was easy for a day or so, since he was living alone in Grimmauld Place number 12. Kreature knew, but didn't say anything. By now he respected Harry too much to do anything that cruel to his pride. Instead, things magically shifted out of Harry's way if he wandered off course. Railings and ticking noises guided him along. Harry came downstairs every morning with his glasses perched on his nose and eyes at half-mast to give the illusion of sight. Despite his efforts, his every movement gave him away; the stilted way he reached for his morning coffee, his careful progression down the stairs and his sudden twitches toward any unexpected noises-

The more Harry thought about it, the more it scared him. The more it scared him, the quieter he got. If no words were said, then none of it was true.

Then one morning, the world was quiet.

Gripping his wand, Harry muttered an incantation from his rusty throat but nothing came out. He said it again louder, feeling the air vibrate through his vocal chords. Nothing.

Harry sobbed in wet heaving gasps that should have given off some sort of sound. How could something feel so real but not exist? He thrashed his wand wildly, screaming _Aguamenti_ so hard that he felt his teeth rattle.

A jet of water soaked the sheets. But all he got in return was resounding and deafening silence. And darkness.

Panic swept through Harry has a small hand reached for him, but relaxed once he recognized Kreature's gnarled touch. He must have begged and pleaded, he knew he did, but he couldn't hear himself say the words. How was he to know he wasn't crazy if he couldn't even hear himself beg?

In almost seemed like no time at all and an eternity, soft gentle hands were on him, roughed slightly by knitting and housework. Then the scent of the Burrow drifted to Harry's nose and he reached out, grateful that his sense of touch was still working.

Mrs. Weasley, plump in all the right places, tucked Harry to her chest and petted his hair. He clung to her, blunt nails digging into her blouse and apron, but soon she had to leave.

As the warmth of her body and the scent of the Burrow drifted away from him, the world became empty.

Once Mrs. Weasley knew, of course, there was to be no more hiding. Unable to tell Harry where they wanted to take him, Mr. Weasley used his new pull at the Ministry and Harry's name to get Healers to make house calls.

Poked and prodded and tested, the most they could offer were temporary spells and potions to restore his hearing and sight. At first, it was enough to make Harry want to sing and shoot fireworks from his wand, all for the pleasure of it, but soon discovered that with only an hour of light and noise, he would not only go deaf and blind again, but would suffer from debilitating headaches that could not be soothed.

To say the least, the sudden shock of Harry's disabilities confused almost everyone. Apart from his vision, Harry was a normal young man. There had been no warning. But as it turned out, Voldemort's presence in Harry's mind had not only created a link, but dependence. It could be blamed on spectacularly bad timing. Had Voldemort waited until after fifth, sixth or seventh year to come back, Harry would have been able to support himself. But at the time when Harry's body would be most affected by hormonal development, Voldemort's increasing powers had taken over and even destroyed a great deal of Harry's capacities.

Now that Voldemort was gone, left with no other support, Harry's body began to coast on its own strength, but as that strength wore out, Harry's body began to fail him.

"I'm sorry," one Healer said. "But there is no cure. We can stop the progress from here with potions frequent examinations, but we can't reverse the damage. Had we known this would happen, we might have been able to keep it from this extreme-"

As his hearing faded into a painful throb, Harry heard Arthur Weasley, not Molly, yelling and cursing at the Healer, demanding answers, more research or another damn opinion. But what called to Harry the most was the silence from Molly. Though he knew she was there, not once did she scold her husband on his language or even ask him to quiet down. The last thing Harry remembered ever hearing was the sound of Molly Weasley's small, barely-there sniffle.

Harry felt his stomach clench as white hot anger soared through him, overpowering the headache from the Gift of Sight potion. One more part for his life destroyed, all thanks to Tom Riddle's unquenchable thirst for power.

The room vibrated. Soon he felt shards of glass prickle his skin and liquid from the jars above drip onto his head. Shaking and scratching at himself in frustration, he wished that it had been Mr. Weasley who had let his magic get away from him. After having his parents and Sirius taken, after having his eyes plucked from him and his voice stolen, Harry couldn't stand to lose his control as well.

Minutes passed into hours. Hours passed into days. Days passed into weeks. And then weeks became minutes again. At first, Harry tried to act as if nothing had happened. Even though he had answers, he also knew that he had no hope of a cure. Before, it had been so simple. No one had said yes or no. He had been trying, which meant that there had been hope.

There was no excuse now. He would still wear his glasses as if he were convinced that he would need them. He still took the Daily Prophet and still had a special erasable-ink quill he kept at the table for the crossword. He still craned his head for the sound of the morning post owl. He refused to let Kreature feed him, but would howl in anger when he would knock over his glass or cut into the table. He refused the use of a cane, but would hurl the side table against the wall when he knocked into it.

Old and scared, Kreature couldn't take the rages and the tantrums. It only took a week for Harry to try to prove his independence by hunting down his broom and trying to fly. Fortunately, Kreature was able to get Harry down before anything bad happened, but the struggle that ensued when Harry got to the ground was too much to bear. After that, Kreature was told by Mrs. Weasley to pack up his things. Within hours, Harry was back in the Burrow. This time, for good.

Harry was left helpless. Trapped in a warded room for his own safety, his mind kept flashing back to his cupboard under the stairs, the summer of his 5th year trapped in Dudley's second bedroom, being restrained by Wormtail in the Riddle's graveyard during the Tri-wizard Tournament. The Weasleys would come to visit, would even guide him downstairs to participate with the family. But slowly Harry began to retreat into himself. He wouldn't dare fight Molly or Arthur the way he fought Kreature, but he was a burden and he knew it.

Harry's mood blackened, sleeping until he couldn't stand to sleep, moving listlessly around his room until he couldn't stand to be awake. He took meals only when coaxed, only voluntarily taking the lukewarm tea that Mrs. Weasley set out for him on his dresser during his long sleeping spells.

Months came and went and nothing changed. Anti-social as ever, what few visitors Harry had began to dwindle. Unknown to Harry, the Weasley's had a barrage of media come looking for him. Rita Skeeter, for a time, had shown up every day for two weeks, trying to persuade them for an interview. Other sharks and scum came and went, all of them leaving disappointed. No matter the price, the Weasley's refused to comment, refused to allow them on the property. The gnomes finally earned their keep by attacking Rita, causing the others to back off. This exhausted Molly, but the less Harry knew the better. Besides, it wasn't as if she could have told Harry, even if she wanted to.

Eventually, life fell back into a restless rhythm. Healers came in and out, performing their examinations and prescribing potions. They provided Harry with exercises which his promptly ignored, and offered treatment and schooling which Harry took no interest in.

Then, during Winter break, Ginny came home.

Molly's letters from home didn't provide much in the way of information. Fortunately, Ginny was very good at reading between the lines, so when she arrived, she wasn't in for that much of a surprise. Still, it was painful to hear the random shuffling and snoring from George and Fred's old room and the thin lipped expression of Molly's rapidly aging face as Harry cried out for help whenever he fell or became frustrated and it quickly began to rake on Ginny's nerves.

Most of all, the smell of Harry's room was atrocious. He used the bathroom, but Harry wanted to make sure that he would know the minute that he would lose his sense of smell, even though he knew the Healers were confident they had stopped the problem from going any further. Even so, he hid bits of food around the room (an old technique developed from living with the Dursley's) but refused to eat them. Finding old dung bombs, Harry would set them off, causing smoke to roll out from under the cracks of the door. Since Mrs. Weasley wouldn't allow Harry to bathe without supervision and Harry refused to bathe while being monitored, he simply went without. Harry became highly territorial as well, not letting anyone invade his space or come in to clean.

At first, Ginny kept quiet. She had confidence that her mother knew what she was doing. After all, she had raised seven children successfully and had always been the pillar of strength. But finally, one day, Ginny heard a scream and breaking glass as Harry threw yet another tantrum at her mother. Molly came running down the stairs and out the door with her face in an apron, sobbing freely. With her father at work, Ginny first checked to make sure that Molly hadn't been injured and that she was, in fact, just upset.

Later, after she had served her mother some tea and offered to prepare dinner so that she could have a lie down, Ginny chalked her anger up to insanity as she raced up the stairs with her wand in hand. Before Harry could protest, Ginny was inside his room with a hanky over her mouth and nose, casting a silencing spell on the door. In one quick motion, Ginny wiped the room of the smell of rot, setting Harry off immediately. As he raged, Ginny only gave him enough attention to cast a binding spell on the bed, increasing Harry's howls to fever-pitch.

She took out the garbage, repaired the broken pictures on the walls, mended the vases, and re-shelved the books. By the time she had tidied the room, Harry was panting and in a sweat on the bed, spewing mangled curses that he couldn't hear himself say but certainly meant.

This did not disturb Ginny at all. Instead she simply went to the bathroom and prepared a bucket of hot, soapy water and a sponge and ventured back into the room. Casting an anti-spill charm on the bucket, Ginny began to undress Harry, causing him to kick and thrash at her wildly. This couldn't be a modesty issue. Although they had never gone all the way, they had fooled around, and yes, had even seen each other naked before. By now, Harry had to know that this was not Mrs. Weasley and that no one else would even try to go this far, but that didn't stop Harry from starting to cry great big crocodile tears in frustration.

Then the last straw finally snapped.

Having Harry naked from the waist up, Ginny bent down to retrieve the sopping sponge and Harry's arm flew out of nowhere. It hit Ginny in the shoulder hard enough to knock the wind out of her and before she knew it, she had slapped Harry hard on the cheek, sending his useless glasses across the room. She sat there, shocked at herself but had very little sympathy for the man who was abusing her mother's good intentions; highly satisfied with herself as her handprint rose against his pale skin.

For a moment, there was absolute silence. Harry's blank eyes were wide and his mouth gaped open, terrified, as if Ginny's swift punishment spoke out of all the things she wanted to rage at him for. Perhaps he understood how childish and pathetic he was acting because after a resigned sigh, he closed his mouth and tucked his hands by his side obediently.

The rest of the washing went by smoothly. Harry even helped, turning, standing and staying still when urged. Ginny handed Harry the towel, allowing him to dry himself. Ginny left him, taking the bath things, only to return a short while later with lamb stew. At first, Harry was embarrassed to eat in front of Ginny, but soon Ginny took over and began to feed him. Harry garbled incoherently about not being a baby, but Ginny took hold of his chin with a firm grip, telling him in no uncertain terms that if he wanted to be treated like an adult, he needed to start acting like one.

Days came and went, and by the end of Ginny's break, Harry was regularly bathing and eating a full meal at least twice a day. Harry even accompanied the Weasley's to see Ginny off at the floo. It was the first time Harry voluntary had been out his room since he arrived. It was a small step, but it was a welcomed one.

A new resolve came over Harry. He no longer searched for his glasses; however he kept a habit of reaching to adjust the frames that were no longer perched on his nose. He made an effort every morning to make his bed, determined to only sleep at night no matter how tired or down he felt during the day. He joined Mrs. Weasley in the kitchens, given small chores such as kneading bread dough and planting seeds in the garden. The lines were crooked, but as far as the Weasleys were concerned, Harry had planted them and that was more than enough.

Harry began to see the Healers again, clumsily going through exercises to develop his sense of smell and touch. A special Healer came in who began to teach Harry how to use sign language, how to read Braille and how to interpret sign language through his palm. In turn, as Harry learned, Arthur and Molly learned as well, taking Harry's palm in theirs and asking if he was hungry. Molly, in true fashion, cried happily as she was able to spell her name to Harry through his palm, only to have him mouth back the letters as she formed them. Soon they were spelling just to spell, just so Harry could practice. They spelled potions recipes, names, birthdays, whole lines from books, spells, stories, jokes-

R-O-N

L-U-N-A

G-I-N-N-Y

M-O-L-L-Y

A-R-T-H-U-R

H-A-R-R-Y

Q-U-I-D-D-I-T-C-H

H-E-R-M-I-O-N-E

H-A-L-F--C-U-P--F-L-O-U-R

C-A-L-L--M-E--I-S-H-M-A-E-L

R-O-N--W-I-L-L--K-I-L-L--M-E--B-U-T--O-N-E--T-I-M-E--W-E-

I--D-O-N-T--T-H-I-N-K--I--W-A-N-T--T-O--K-N-O-W

B-U-G-G-E-R

A--G-O-B-L-I-N--A--H-O-U-S-E--E-L-F--A-N-D--A--S-L-Y-T-H-E-R-I-N--W-A-L-K--I-N-T-O--A--P-U-B-

I-S--T-H-I-S--A--C-L-E-A-N--J-O-K-E

N-O--B-U-T--C-A-N--I--S-T-I-L-L--T-E-L-L--I-T

O-N-L-Y--I-F--I--C-A-N--B-E--T-H-E--O-N-E--T-O--T-E-L-L--I-T--T-O--A-R-T-H-U-R

W-H-E-R-E--D-O--Y-O-U--T-H-I-N-K--I--L-E-A-R-N-E-D--I-T

O-N-C-E--U-P-O-N--A--M-I-D-N-I-G-H-T--D-R-E-A-R-Y

N-I-T-W-I-T--B-L-U-B-B-E-R--O-D-D-M-E-N-T--T-W-E-A-K

Y-O-U--D-O-N-T--H-A-V-E--T-O--D-O--T-H-I-S--M-R-S--W

Y-E-S--W-E--D-O--W-E--L-O-V-E--Y-O-U

I--K-N-O-W--T-H-A-N-K--Y-O-U--I-M--S-O-R-R-Y

Spring came, and with it, so did Ginny. Her time with Harry was spent learning to spell into his hand, guiding him through the garden, her hand tucked into his arm.

R-E-M-E-M-B-E-R--H-O-G-W-A-R-T-S

R-E-M-E-M-B-E-R--H-A-G-R-I-D

R-E-M-E-M-B-E-R--D-O-B-B-Y

R-E-M-E-M-B-E-R--M-E

Y-E-S

Once Ginny left, Harry became determined. Carefully crafting letters with Molly's help, Harry appealed to the Healers to give him their sight and sound potions again. He appealed to Minerva and Filius Flitwick to come on their days off for special lessons in transfiguration and sensory charms. He enlisted Hiram Protsworth, a renowned Legilimens expert. For an hour each Saturday, he regained his sight and his hearing, to learn how to produce sensory spells so he could walk without obstacle- maybe even eventually fly with enough practice. He learned how to transfigure his thoughts into sound, so he could be understood. He learned to sense the people around him, to hear their minds, smell their presence and even though he had previously thought that auras were a bunch of bunk (thanks to Trelawney), Harry learned to read them.

For these lessons, he would endure the headaches that give him temporary sight and sound. They were a small price to pay to be normal again.

Harry asked Mrs. Weasley not to tell Ginny about the lessons. Although Molly couldn't understand why, she just accepted it, happy to have Harry in the world again.

Summer came, and with it came Ginny's N.E.W.T.S and soon after that, Ginny herself. Harry sat through her graduation next to Molly, feeling as she signed the ceremony into his palm. Being his first public appearance this losing his sight and hearing, the ceremony as buzzing and hovering around Harry, who's newly acquired perceptions weren't quite used to the echoes of hundreds. But he stood his ground, fighting to keep his breathing under control.

Ginny knew. Of course Ginny knew. Molly and Arthur knew as well, but they wanted to take Harry home as soon as he started breaking into a sweat. Ginny did no such thing. The master of ceremonies got as far as reading of the diplomas for Rigby and Roldson before she left the pack and took Harry from the seats. As they approached the forest, Harry grabbed a hold of her palm and frantically began to sign.

Y-O-U-R--G-R-A-D-U-A-T-I-O-N-

S-H-U-T--U-P

Ginny's aura told him not to press the issue and Harry didn't protest. Tucking her hand into his arm, he let her lead them off around the lake, pausing to let her guide him towards the water. Much later, they arrived back to the Burrow with Ginny's truck between them, Molly in her dressing gown and looking thunderous. They both got a scolding which Harry grinned through stupidly, grateful that Molly was finally comfortable enough with Harry and his condition to tell him off.

That night Ginny came to him with a bucket of hot, soapy water, fully aware that Harry had been bathing on his own since February. At first, Harry sat by as Ginny bathed him in slow strokes, so very different from Winter break, which had been all business. But soon Harry was not satisfied and tugged Ginny's hand toward his own.

O-F-F

Harry bathed Ginny as slowly as possible, taking time to learn her contours. Through his hands, he felt the flutter of her heart beat, quickening as he brushed against her sensitive skin. The water turned cold, but Ginny did not complain and Harry couldn't stand to leave her, not after all this time apart.

Without words, Harry told Ginny everything he could with the sponge. How he missed her jokes, her temper, her scent. He told her about his year chasing horcruxes, how lonely he had been without her. He told her able the weeding in the garden, about how Molly's bread tasted fresh from the oven. He told her about their first kiss in the common room. And the first time he knew he loved her. Through the movement of the sponge, he came close to telling her about his lessons, but he couldn't bear to tell her yet.

Ginny's aura pulsed around him, maybe understanding everything that he didn't want her to know, maybe understanding nothing. But she was there, and that was enough.

When she began to shiver, Harry put down the sponge and began to towel her off. Ginny accepted this, allowing Harry access to her body with much more patience than she intended to have. Harry's touch was soothing and gentle, as if he was kissing her through his fingers. The towel traced over her arm, over her sides, across her breast, down her thighs, between her toes. As he felt her, she melted into him, closing her eyes and blocking out all sound as his lips wet her navel.

"I love you," was all Harry said and was all Ginny knew.

Morning came and Harry was at peace.


End file.
